


The Road Back

by jackdawq



Category: Persona 4
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackdawq/pseuds/jackdawq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You ain't driving," Kanji tells her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road Back

"You ain't driving," Kanji tells her.

Naoto knows she should be offended at such a response – or angry, or indignant, or a host of other adjectives – but the winter is at its nadir, and she's too busy being thoroughly miserable. Despite her upbringing in Takayama, a place prone to snowy winters, Hokkaido feels far colder and the ice seems to sleep into her bones. Typically she would spend as much time as possible indoors, buried among heavy blankets and case documents. Unfortunately, Japan's criminal element refuses to take the season off.

"We'll swap after the ferry," she says, and huddles down into the passenger seat.

 

* * *

At only an hour away from Sapporo, the location of their last case, they still face a long drive back to Inaba. So far the time has been filled with fragments of idle conversation – typically on Kanji's part - interspersed among long silences that aren't nearly as awkward as they used to be, or at least are awkward in a entirely different way. Naoto wonders whether this is natural. This is the second case on which he has accompanied her, as part of an arrangement Souji proposed two months ago, after she graduated Tokyo University and returned to full-time casework.

 _Kanji could see more of Japan_ , Senpai said. _It doesn't have to be every case,_ _and_ _you'd have some muscle to help out._

Naoto does not require 'muscle'. Though her work does occasionally turn violent, she is more than capable of handling herself. Souji is, however, famously persuasive. He framed it as a personal favour to him, not Kanji, and Naoto found herself unable to refuse. Judging by his stammered, hesitant acceptance, Kanji seemed no more enthusiastic about the idea - but they left Inaba together nonetheless on the next case she chose to accept.

She glances at him in the driver's seat. The rental car is small and his legs look uncomfortably bent. She doubts he will complain even as he limps out on the ferry.

He was...useful, on this most recent case. Naoto will allow that. There was one unpleasant episode toward the end: a murder suspect who turned on her during a pursuit. Her gun was smacked out of her hand, snatched from the floor, aimed directly at her head – until Kanji whipped the suspect's arm behind him, twisting to the point that she swore she heard bone crack.

Kanji brushed the incident off afterward. _Nothing big, just helpin' out._ She's almost as grateful for that as she is for him saving her life.

 

* * *

It's Kanji's fault they're doing all this. He refused Naoto's offer to pay for his transportation, which ruled out travel by plane. The trip back will instead take two to three days of driving, not accounting for the traffic or the ferry ride - the latter of which appears to be making him extremely unhappy.

"I'm gonna throw up," he groans, leaning over the railings of the ship's observation deck.

"Planes don't travel on ferries," Naoto points out.

Kanji slowly shakes his head. His blonde hair catches the red and orange glints of the sunset. "Damn, Yosuke-senpai was right. You _are_ tin-eared."

The comment doesn't sting, but her heart sinks all the same. She thought she'd improved. "...I apologize, Kanji-kun," she says quietly. The freezing wind rushes across the sea, biting at her cheeks; the only reason they might look red, of course.

He straightens, both white-knuckled hands still gripping the railing. "...Nah, s'fine. I was being kind of a dick." He groans again. "I just feel like crap, y'know?"

She frowns and, without really thinking, places a hand on the back of his jacket. Despite the cold air, she's certain she can feel warmth even through the leather. "Perhaps you should sit down inside."

It's not a wholly altruistic suggestion, but Kanji acquiesces. "Uh – yeah," he says. "Sure." And he lets her lead him inside the ship, her palm still pressed against the heat of his back.

 

* * *

Naoto has learned a lot about Kanji during the past two months, usually while they're travelling.

She knows that his father worked with dyes that left his fingers stained with splashes of colour, and that when Kanji was three he dunked his hand in a pot full of purple that didn't wash off for two weeks. That he made his first clumsily-knitted penguin at age five, guided by his mother, and when the kids at school found out, her encouragement was the only thing that kept him from stopping. That when his father died one summer morning five years on from that, it hurt for twice as long again and maybe always will.

(Naoto knows this to be true, but for once she held her tongue.)

She's learned that he'd get a cat – or two, or three – if the fur wouldn't get all over the shop's fabric. He made the Marilyn dress for the cross-dressing pageant himself ( _total rush job,_ he added) and, though he saw it coming, he was a little disappointed when he didn't win. He helped a boy who dropped a friend's toy in the river and found himself roped into making stuffed animals for the boy's entire family. He used to be friends with Naoki Konishi as a child and wishes he knew how to bridge the gap again; envies Souji for the easy friendship he sparked. She still doesn't know the standard information – his favourite colour, his favourite food, his blood type – but that information would be useless. It's possible to learn as much about him by the type of stories he chooses to share as much as their actual content.

To her surprise, she's also learned that while he doesn't have many investigative skills and generally just accompanies her, she doesn't really mind.

Kanji hasn't learned much about Naoto. This is intentional. Opening up to others is both difficult and dangerous, and would close a distance she's always endeavored to maintain even with the investigation team, the first friends she ever made. Instead she listens to his stories and evades his indirect questions out of habit. Lately, she's been increasingly regretting this.

Naoto tenses and grips the wheel harder. They're caught in traffic, as expected. She's driving only in the technical sense. Instead she watches Kanji fiddle with the car radio and complain vociferously about _all the damn commercials, seriously, don't anyone play music?_   He might be trying to fill the silence, if only to hide how much it's changed.

 

* * *

The motel's owner eyes them suspiciously. Or rather, he eyes Naoto. "Sorry. Snow caught drivers out. Only one room free."

At twenty-one, Naoto's chances of passing as a boy of sixteen are increasingly slim. Still, this is a backwater town, and in her experience people assume what they believe makes most sense. She is dressed as a male, therefore.

"He's my little brother," Kanji cuts in. "We'll be fine."

The owner gives her a long, measuring look. Then he hands Kanji the key. "Up the stairs, second on the right."

As they climb the stairs, Kanji leans toward her. "Shit, don't ever listen to me again," he mutters. "Going off the highway was a terrible idea."

"Yes," Naoto says.

The plan had been to avoid traffic, but with her phone dead and Kanji's (according to him) being a hundred years old, they had no GPS. He spent a considerable amount of time cursing at the dated map in his lap, as if doing so might magically reveal their location, at least until the snow set in. The highway would be treacherous enough, never mind these quieter mountain roads. Naoto pulled over in the next town they reached and at the first lodgings she saw.

Upstairs, there appear to be only six guest rooms in the entire building. She quickly unlocks the door to theirs and walks inside. The furnishings are basic at best, but acceptably clean. Kanji, for some reason, remains standing in the doorway.

"What?" she asks.

"Sorry. Wasn't thinking." He glances away. "Just – didn't want us t'get thrown out."

Preoccupied with convincing the owner, she didn't pause to consider their situation: namely, spending the night in the same very small room. Naoto turns away, hoping the heat racing over her cheeks will pass quickly.

She wants to understand why this even matters. Kanji is a friend, no more. That's always been enough.

She swallows. "Of course," she says. "We should get some sleep. Early start tomorrow."

"Y-Yeah. Right." He moves to the cupboard and begins pulling out the sleeping mats and dusty bedding.

 

* * *

If she squints, Naoto can make out Kanji's outline in the dark: a heavy shape beneath thick blankets, facing away from her. They turned out the lights at least an hour ago, but she can tell by his breathing that he is still awake.

"Kanji-kun," she says.

"...Yeah?"

Naoto hesitates a moment, the words thick on her tongue, then whispers, "Thank you. For what you did in Sapporo."

He grunts sleepily in response, somehow mixing gruff dismissal with approval. "Someone's gotta look out for you."

She doesn't _need_ protecting. She never has. This doesn't stop his words from being inexplicably comforting. "I'll be fine," she tells him, all the same.

Naoto received a call yesterday. Another case is already lined up, this time in Osaka. It isn't fair to keep dragging Kanji away from Inaba, from the shop and his mother and his friends. There's too much to keep him there - and honestly, though he's eager to learn, he still knows very little about detective work. Violent suspects notwithstanding, his presence is unnecessary. She should welcome his departure.

 _Will you go with me_ , she almost asks, and scolds herself for the thought.

She bites her lip. "Good night, Kanji-kun," she eventually says.

"Night," he mumbles, without turning to face her.

 

* * *

Somewhere along the highway, roughly one more day from Inaba and at Kanji's urging, they stop at a Wild Duck Burger. At a loss, Naoto orders the least offensive-looking thing on the menu: fries. The food is still unpalatable.

"You gonna eat that?" Kanji asks.

He ordered two Mystery Burgers. Naoto had thought herself a fan of mysteries, but evidently there are exceptions. She pushes the fries across the table.

Midway through devouring them, he looks up. "So…we're gonna do this again, right?"

She wrinkles her nose. "Eat at Wild Duck Burger?"

"Nah." Kanji shakes his head and smiles. His smiles are rare, and Naoto tends to remember each one. "Another case."

She doesn't answer at first, and the smile vanishes.

"I-I mean, we don't _have_ to," he starts babbling, "I know I ain't that helpful, just thought maybe it'd be fun, you don't have to feel bad if you tell me to take a hike, y'know?"

Perhaps it's better to let them both exit this gracefully. Kanji may feel obliged to stay – and the alternative may lead them into deeper waters, of which he may not even be aware. Naoto is, and they terrify her.

She hesitates. "…Well, it isn't really your field, and—"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know," he says, twirling the straw in his soda. "S'fine. I'll stay home."

A frown crosses her features. "Wouldn't you _rather_ do that?"

Kanji has already turned his head toward the grimy side window. "I – like spending time with you." Then he glances back at her. "So I wanna keep doing that."

Naoto stares at the crumpled burger wrappings. "Very well," she says.

 

* * *

They share a room again near Tokyo that night, in a small, concrete block of a hotel in the suburbs of the city. "It'll save money," Kanji says, not quite looking at her.

Naoto, whose family's wealth has covered every high-end hotel she's ever stayed in, nods in agreement.

Once again both of them lie awake, each quietly waiting for the other to fall asleep. In the end Kanji drops off first, his breathing turning slow and heavy. He's facing her this time and she watches him in the dim moonlight filtering through the open blinds. His features look a little strange tilted to the right, but then they're equally severe and awkward the right way up. His brow is too low and his hairline too far back and he seems to be frowning even in his sleep. He's thoroughly imperfect. Naoto thinks that perhaps that isn't a bad thing.

She talked a little during the drive today. Told him about her parents, a few of the small shards and flashes she remembers. Mentioned that she made gadgets – toys, really, silly little playthings like flashing badges and plastic robots with radios. He smiled at that. _Totally awesome_ , he said.

…Thinking about Kanji while sleeping in the same room is, Naoto decides, a very bad sign.

She closes her eyes, burrows further into the blankets, and tries to sleep.

 

* * *

The snow hasn't reached the city, but the morning is still chilly and sharp. More crucially, the rental car is no longer functional.

Naoto rubs her upper arms and stomps her feet in an effort to eke out some circulation. As he slams down the car's front hood, Kanji swears for the tenth time in the past five minutes, this time very loudly.  Then he stalks over to her, looking equal parts sheepish and frustrated.

"I've seriously got no clue how to fix it." He runs a hand through his hair. Naoto decides not to mention the traces of engine grease left behind.

Her expertise lies in the electrical rather than the mechanical. "We could catch the train," she says hopefully.

"We're driving," Kanji insists. "The rental chain can replace the car. There's gotta be one of them around here, right?"

 

* * *

"We were s'posed to drive," Kanji mutters.

Cold as the train station platform is, it's warmer than walking through endless, identical-looking streets while searching for a car rental office that, according to a helpful convenience store owner, turns out not to exist anywhere nearby. Naoto has some experience in that area.

Kanji scowls at nothing in particular. "What the hell are we gonna do about the car, anyway?"

"Perhaps the authorities will tow it." The answer doesn't seem to please him, and she quickly adds, "Or I'll call one of the rental offices in the city and have them collect it."

He sighs and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets.

After several minutes of awkward debate, he allowed her to pay for his train ticket – on the condition he pay her back as soon as he is able. Factoring in gas costs if they'd driven the entire way, the final price probably isn't that much different, but perhaps it's the principle. Naoto doesn't wish to make him uncomfortable, but equally she needs to return to Inaba in a timely fashion in order to prepare for her next case.

 _Their_ next case. Her stomach twists at the thought, a good-bad feeling just beyond explanation.

She looks up at Kanji – who's still sulking – and can't help a small, nervous smile. "Kanji-kun?"

"Yeah?"

"I – enjoy your company too."

"Oh," he says, looking a little red-faced. "Cool."

 

* * *

In truth, Naoto has learned more about Kanji than the scattering of facts he's supplied, knowledge that augments what she already knew of his character. She could list his qualities - bravery, strength, compassion – but even collected together these words still fail to cover the whole. For all her wide vocabulary, she can't find the ones that would.

They're approaching Inaba and he's sitting in the seat beside her in the otherwise empty carriage. As the train clatters against the track, Naoto glances at him. He's turned toward the window and watching the scenery pass by.

She leans back in her seat. Her entire body feels tired – or tired of _this_. The air is electric, crackling through her arms and shoulders. Naoto still wants to understand why all this matters; wants things to make sense again; wants Kanji to know that _yes_ , she's noticed, she knew it almost from the start. It was simply easier to ignore it, and she isn't sure at which point that became impossible.

She shoots him another glance that she hopes he'll miss – then catches his eye and realizes he's looking back at her. 

Their hands are close on the armrest. Kanji uses his to slip back her sleeve and gently grip her wrist, thumb pressed against the underside.

She stops breathing, stops thinking. Stops everything.

Sometimes, it's acceptable not to understand.

"Naoto," Kanji says, frowning. "I—"

Naoto plans for every road, in part by sealing many of them off completely. This situation is one of them - yet her next, unplanned action seems the most obvious thing in the world. She leans in, cups a hand around the back of Kanji's head, and kisses him.

Kanji appears to seize up, clearly not expecting this event – but neither was she, really, and it's only a moment before he kisses her back. They're twisted uncomfortably in their seats, the armrest is digging into her side, but when he grasps her shoulder and pulles her in closer, Naoto realizes some things are better imperfect.

 

* * *

Contrary to Naoto's expectations, the world does not dissolve into chaos, but nor do all the pieces click into place at once. It's a hazy, ambiguous middle ground and if she has to be honest – because perhaps she does, now – it's slightly unsettling. But there's still their casework: simple and familiar.

It's around five hours to Osaka, and Kanji is insisting on driving again. Naoto doesn't object all that fiercely; she's spent most of the night poring over the reports forwarded to her by the police's homicide division and two cups of coffee have done little to rouse her.

"We're switching after an hour," she says as she leans her head against the cold window.

Kanji closes the car door, then leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Get some sleep," he tells her.

Then he turns on the radio and starts humming along, hopelessly out of tune. The sun's rising, filling the inside of the car with pink and orange, and Naoto closes her eyes.


End file.
